


Swingset Part II

by mamey2422



Series: Swingset [2]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 01:44:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18885574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamey2422/pseuds/mamey2422
Summary: They meet at the swing sets every Thursday now. The routine happens without either of them asking or planning. They meet late, always when the park is mostly empty. Beth brings Emma, Rio brings Marcus. This hour becomes an unspoken truce. The rules are unspoken. They never talk about business. They never miss a Thursday.





	Swingset Part II

They meet at the swing sets every Thursday now. The routine happens without either of them asking or planning. They meet late, always when the park is mostly empty. Beth brings Emma, Rio brings Marcus. Their cover. The kids play, Beth and Rio sit in the fragile light of dusk, gently swaying back and forth. This hour becomes an unspoken truce. Switzerland in their unusual battle, a détente in their chaos of money, pills, body parts, power. The rules are unspoken. They never talk about business. They never miss a Thursday.

The first time, Rio catches Beth by surprise. She watches him, mouth open in shock, until he sits on the swing next to her. But she doesn’t say anything. Neither does he. Rio uses the small lazy circle of his swing for words. Slowly pushing his swing closer to hers in their unusual side to side pattern, until they gently come together – hands brushing – then move apart. Back and forth, over and over.

Beth eventually breaks the silence.

“Marcus is quite the athlete.” Their kids are neutral ground, safe territory. Marcus plays soccer at the park all the time. She knows he plays baseball from her stakeout of Rio. And now he is shooting a basketball into a small hoop, making more shots than he misses, Emma his eager rebounder.

“He loves to win.”

“He gets that from his dad.”

“Not a bad thing, is it?”

“No, not necessarily. Depends on what you’re going after.”

* * *

 

“Mommy, can I have a snack?” Emma asks breathlessly, racing to make her break as short as possible so she can get back to the monkey bars with Marcus.

Beth, always prepared, pulls out a mini bag of goldfish from her purse, opening it before handing it to Emma along with her water bottle.

“Here you go. And share with Marcus.”

“I don’t like this flavor. I like the rainbow ones.”

“What do I always tell you? You get what you get and you don’t get upset.”

Emma runs back to the playground, goldfish in hand, her disappointment quickly forgotten.

“Where’d you learn that saying?”

“My mom.”

“Smart lady.”

“Tough lady.”

Beth’s response is quiet, her head lowering, telling Rio there’s more to the story. Beth might reject him, but he dips his toe in.

“Rough childhood?”

“No.” Beth didn’t often talk about her childhood. It was muddy trying to explain to someone what you didn’t fully understand yourself. The past was not a place she chose to dwell. “Every family is different. Could have been worse.”  

“That bad, huh?”

“My mom had mental health issues,” Beth’s not sure why she’s sharing so much. Maybe because Rio listens as well, and as much, as he talks. “My dad didn’t know how to deal. I became the parent pretty early on." 

Rio understands how Beth came to be the woman in front of him. Strong, determined, resourceful. Talking her way out of getting shot – more than once. Wrapping herself in a drop cloth to get into his apartment. He also feels sorry for the young version of Beth, the girl with little affection and fun in her life.

“You didn’t turn out bad. You should be proud of yourself.”

As Rio is prone to do, he stuns Beth into silence by acknowledging her, celebrating her. She recovers and digs into her purse, pulling out another snack bag, this one filled with bright orange pieces.

“Here,” she throws the bag at Rio who catches it with one hand. 

“Cheetos?”

“Your favorite, right?”

“How did you know?”

“I have my ways.”

After last week’s swing set, Emma asked Beth if they could play ‘Cheeto Monster.’  Beth learned that both Marcus and Rio love Cheetos, and Rio chases Marcus around with orange stained fingers whenever they eat them. She couldn’t resist buying a bag when she passed through the chip aisle at the grocery store.

* * *

There’s the night Rio shows up and Beth can see he is tired, or sad, or both. It’s in the shadows around his eyes, in the slow weight of his steps, the slump of his shoulders, the stillness of his swing. A rare departure from his usual swagger. Beth fights the immediate urge to soothe him.

“Everything okay?” she asks instead.

“Yeah.” His answer is curse, incomplete.

“Well, whatever you do, just don’t smile.”

“What?”

“Absolutely do not smile.” Beth emphasizes each syllable. She plays this game when her kids are in a bad mood, letting them feel cranky but telling them that under no circumstances can they smile. She exaggerates it so much that they ultimately do, often with everyone ending in hysterical laughter, their bad mood long forgotten.

Rio smirks, a mix of confusion and amusement. 

“I’m serious,” Beth continues, keeping her tone deadly serious. “You better not smile.”

Rio fights the tug at the corner of his lips.

“Are you about to smile?” Beth asks. “Don’t do it. No matter what, you cannot smile.” 

Finally Rio breaks, a full blown smile lighting his face.

* * *

“You want a push?” Rio asks, about a month into their ritual.

“No thanks.” Beth usually keeps at least a toe on the ground, allowing for only a light swing, but tonight she’s kicking her legs to get some air. 

“You sure?”

“Okay, just a small one.”

Rio stands behind her, catches her back with both hands on the backswing and pushes her forward – hard – doubling the arch of her swing.

“Rio!” Beth yells in laughter, pumping her legs to keep the momentum.

He does it again on each return trip, pushing her higher and higher. Beth closes her eyes, lets her head fall back, weightless, lost in the moment. The wind blows through her hair, her body, taking all of her worries with it.

Eventually, Rio lets her come to a slow stop. Beth stands up, turns around to face him, her fingers overlapping his as she grips the chains.

She’s out of breath, her cheeks are flushed, her eyes glazed. Rio takes a mental snapshot, adds it to his collection. It feels like a lifetime since he’s seen Beth look like this. That afternoon in her bedroom. Those hours are still vivid in his mind. It’s the unexpected intimacy that haunts him most. Briefly, before quickly pulling it back, she let him see the hidden part of her who wants to open her heart and share it.

“Thank you,” Beth says, her voice husky, noticing how close they are standing, only the small swing seat separating them. “I haven’t done that in a long time. It was fun.”

“What are friends for?”

 “So we’re friends?”

“Aren’t we?”

* * *

There’s the time, several weeks into their routine, Rio shows up and Beth isn’t on her swing. The left one is hers. He scans the park and finds her by the seesaw with a man he doesn’t recognize. The man has a hand on her shoulder, standing unusually close as they talk. His vision turns viciously bright green.

“Sorry,” Beth says when she eventually walks up to him, not sure what she’s apologizing for. “Paula is trying to play matchmaker with a dad she knows from her tennis club.”

“Oh yeah? He looks like a real winner.”

“Jealous?”

His eyes flash to hers.

“No. Just an observation.” Rio tells himself he’s not jealous. He is simply protecting Beth. Keeping her away from anyone looking to take advantage of a new divorcee.

“I see.” Beth pauses. “I’m not interested, anyway.”

Beth isn’t interested in dating. Or meeting anyone new. She’s interested in enjoying these simple moments on the swings. Just him and her. For as long as it lasts. 

* * *

The swings become healing. Beth learns to draw in cleansing breaths, let them out slowly, in tune with the rhythm of the swings. The stiffness in Rio’s shoulders dissipates the instant he’s on the cold medal next to Beth, swaying back and forth. 

* * *

One night, the swing set ritual turns into dinner. Marcus begs for Emma to come over so she can see his Pokemon card collection, maybe make a trade if the deal is right. Both kids are insistent and persistent, neither parent can reason their way out of it. Neither really want to.  

Now that she’s actually invited in to Rio’s home, Beth takes her time slowly looking around. Rio is everywhere in the space. Part broody and shadowy, part bright and joyful. The scents are both new and familiar. Streaks of green, a mix of shapes and textures fill the canvasses on the walls. She doesn’t understand all the artwork and decorations but they make her _feel_. Just like the man who owned them, who was standing by the stove making spaghetti.

“Do you ever have any problems with staining on your backsplash?” she asks with a smirk as she stands next to him, nodding to the bright green tile.

“Of course not,” Rio replies with an easy smile, joining her in the memory of their first encounter.

“Can I help?”

“Have a seat. Relax.” He pours her a glass of bourbon.

He puts the bottle back on a shelf, the liquor organized by color and height.

“You like things in their place, don’t you?”

“Sure. It makes life simpler. Aren’t you the same?”

“Sure. I deal better with things when I have a plan. When I know what I’m doing.”

What they were doing with each other – with this connection between them that is strengthening - remains unspoken.

* * *

A normal evening on the swings takes an unexpected turn when Rio silently reaches a hand across the distance between them. Beth lifts her gaze, finds him looking directly into her eyes. She thinks touching him will be a mistake but she reaches across to meet him in the middle, links her fingers with his as they rock back and forth, in sync. She looks down at their hands. So different. Hers narrow and pale and delicate. His wide and tan and strong. But look how they fit together.

* * *

Beth hadn’t expected to fall in love on a swing set. And definitely not with a criminal. But she did. Head over heels with Rio. She tries to convince herself its misplaced gratitude. For him coming into her life, letting her into his business, at a low and desperate point. She wants to believe she can walk away from him whole and intact. But she knows better. He’s seeped into her, she’ll carry parts of him forever. When she looks at him on the swing next to hers, she sees a perfectly imperfect man. It isn’t just the looks and charm. He works hard, he says what he means, he is a caring father, he has integrity and ambition. He’s dangerous, too. But he will never hurt her. She knows that. He’s exactly everything she wants.

Rio appreciates putting his temper, mind, emotions against an equal. That equal is Beth. Falling in love with her wasn’t a jolt or shock to his system. That happened  months ago. Probably when she first called him an idiot while a gun was pointed to her head. He’d been afraid that if he allowed himself to feel this way that he’d be lost. But, no. This is a clear and warm understanding. He accepts he’s been heading here all along.


End file.
